


a little bit of your attention

by ajarofgoodthings



Series: recovering hearts [1]
Category: Scream (TV)
Genre: Community: femslash100, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/F, Femslash, First Time, Hurt/Comfort, Lesbian Sex, Oral Fixation, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Vaginal Fingering, kind of, there's some plot b/c it's me and i love FEELINGS
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-04
Updated: 2017-08-04
Packaged: 2018-12-11 00:24:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,214
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11702937
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ajarofgoodthings/pseuds/ajarofgoodthings
Summary: "Were you and Audrey ever, like, a thing?"Emma's eyebrows hit her hairline, mouth falling open a little in surprise, and Brooke, well - it's not really the first time she's thought about this, either. She's always thought Emma was gorgeous, and then after Audrey's video had come out - and Brooke had watched it again, and then again, and then again - she'd developed kind of a hyper-fixation on Emma's mouth, because she's always got the best curves to her smiles, even her frowns - and her lips look really soft, and -"I think, maybe, she had a crush on me for a while, or something like that. But she never did anything about it,""What would have done if she had?" Brooke asks, and her eyes are drawn to the movement of Emma's fingers curling in the covers over her lap, clenching in the flower-print of the duvet."I don't know," Emma breathes when Brooke meets her eyes again, and there's a shallowness, like she doesn't have enough air behind it."What would you do if I did?"(Or; Brooke goes to Emma's after Jake's instead of going home alone)





	a little bit of your attention

Brooke had thought about going home. 

She's _seventeen_ \- she can be by herself for a few days, or weeks, or however long it was going to take for her mom to get out, or her dad, or _whatever_ \- she's practically an adult. She can handle it.

Except, there's a killer on the loose. There's a killer on the loose, and some of her friends are dead, and her other friends have been blackmailing her father and - and nothing really makes _sense_ anymore. And Emma had offered, anyway; so Brooke does what she'd said she would - holds her to it, and it's _nice_ , hanging out with Emma and her mom. It's charged, obviously - awkward and a little tense and _weird_ , but it's good, too. Comfortable. They eat pizza on the couch and watch a Disney movie and a half and then Emma's mom dictates _it's a school night, girls_ and Brooke kind of appreciates it, the parental boundaries. It's one thing, to live in a house surrounded by security cameras - it's another to actually have someone _there_ , and _caring_ , and offering to make sleepy-time tea.

They're sharing a room for the night. Emma's mom had offered the guest room in the basement and Brooke had plastered on the best smile she could and nodded, because they were doing her a _favour_ , letting her stay here - but Emma had grabbed Brooke's hand where French-tipped nails were tapping anxiety out along her thigh and squeezed it and shook her head. _We can share my bed; the basement's kind of creepy, mom._

So they're in Emma's room, and Brooke's laughing at the pile of teddy bears on Emma's chair, picking up the top one and turning with it, eyebrow raised.

"I can't believe you've still got all of these. _Facing the bed_. How did Will get it up with an audience?" She teases, and Emma blushes and rolls her eyes and laughs, snatching the bear out of Brooke's hands and smacking her in the shoulder with it. The laughter dies as she sets the bear back, and Brooke realizes the weight of what she's said as the corners of Emma's mouth turn down. "Damnit, I was kidding, I'm sorry -"

"It's fine," Emma's shaking her head, but she's crossing her arms over her chest and setting her jaw and _fuck, damnit_. Brooke's not stupid. Brooke's actually, really, really smart - whatever the _popular girl_ image she portrays might say. She pays attention. She knows her friends. She _cares_ \- and she knows what it looks like when Emma is shutting someone out.

She's been doing it a lot, lately.

"Seriously, Em. I'm sorry, I didn't mean it like that," Brooke says, brings her hands up to curl fingers over either of Emma's arms. "It's - are you okay? We haven't really talked about it. I mean, you don't have to, but - " it's as good a time as ever; the accidental, blundering segway might be the only one she gets, and Brooke _gets it_ , kind of. The intrusion. The violation. It's humiliating. "I know it was just Jake, for me, but I do know it sucks. Not to the same scale, obviously, but -" she breaks off again, running her hands over Emma's arms uselessly, because she's doing this _badly_ , and Emma's not looking at her.

"It's okay, Brooke," Emma insists, and when her eyes flick up they're hard and distant even though she's smiling, but it's gargoyle, and Brooke just feels _guilt_. "Really, it's fine. It happened, it's over. There's nothing I can do about it."

Emma pulls away, the warmth of her stepping out of Brooke's grip, and Brooke bites back on her sigh, bending to open the zip of her bag and find her pyjamas.

They get changed in relative silence, broken only by the quiet instrumental shuffle Emma has playing on her Spotify - the same sleep playlist she's been using for the last two years; Brooke's opened it plenty of times herself, and hums along to the songs she recognizes just for something to do. She's _panicking_ , because Emma's doing this incredibly nice thing for her, and she's just making it _weird_. 

Brooke's in control, usually. Of herself, of the people around her - she gets a handle on situations; she manages them, she _runs_ them. But she's had less and less control, lately; she's been a chess piece instead of a player in the game. It's - _wrong_ , backwards, and it's _freaking her out_.

She doesn't get out of control. She's _not_ a victim. And Emma keeps shooting her glances - never long enough for Brooke to really _see_ , but she's pretty sure it's with irritation, so when she comes back from her turn in the bathroom she stops in the doorway, arms wrapped around herself and not looking at Emma, who's sitting on the end of the bed with her phone in her hands.

"I can sleep downstairs," she offers, and winces at how pathetic she sounds to _herself_ , and can see Emma drop her phone to the side in her periphery. Brooke feels like her heart's in her throat, trying to pound itself free of her body, and her eyes are blurring and her head feels spinny and light and then Emma's hands are on her shoulders, fingers digging in, grounding. 

"Brooke." Brooke doesn't look up - she stares at Emma's feet, snug in the faux-fur lined black moccasins Brooke had bought her for Christmas last year, against the bright red of Brooke's pedicure. "Brooke, it's _okay_. Oh, you're totally keyed up - it's _fine_ , I'm not mad," Emma's hand comes up, catches Brooke's chin and forces her head up - and Brooke watches through the blur as Emma's eyes widen, as she inhales, her forehead creases in realization while Brooke's breathing picks up. "You're having a panic attack," she realizes aloud, and then Brooke's being directed towards the bed, one foot forced in front of the other until she's sitting and Emma's sitting on the ground in front of her. 

Her head's spinning, black blurring at the edges of her vision and she _knew_ she was crying, but it takes her a minute to realize the weird keening sound is coming from _her_ \- and immediately after _that_ realization comes the one that it _hurts_ , that it feels like her chest is seizing, her lungs are being crushed. Some idle, ironic rush of a thought offers _looks like you'll die anyway_ as she clutches at the front of her shirt, digging her knuckles against her chest like it might relieve the pressure, and then Emma's fingers are pulling at her wrist and tugging her hands down.

"Hey, you're okay. You're here with me. You're _breathing_. We're gonna count, okay? I want you to count with me - down from ten. Ready? Ten, nine -" Brooke doesn't manage to get any sounds out until _'five'_ , but it's not really a  _sound_ , and Emma's pushing up on her knees, her hand cupping Brooke's face to force her head up. "Brooke,  _look at me_. You're okay. You're safe," she gives, assuring and slow and  _wrong_ , because Brooke's ribcage is trying to rip itself through her skin - her heart is trying to get the hell  _out_ , away from her; which it  _should_ do, which Emma should do, which  _everyone_ should do, because she's an idiot, and she should never have trusted Will, or Jake, or her  _father_ , or anyone, and -

"Brooke." Emma breaks in, hands hard over Brooke's shoulders. "Look at me, here," her finger comes to tilt Brooke's chin up again - a task, with how Brooke's trying to fold in on herself, and she can't  _breathe_ , her lungs are  _not working_. "We're going to count.  _We_. Are going to count -  _Ten_ ," her tongue snaps against her teeth with the consonant; sharp, and hard, and Brooke focuses on the reconnect for the  _n_ , bringing her hands from where she's wrapped her arms around herself to curl her fingers over Emma's wrists.

"Nine - " and they get there. It's not until the bottom of round three that Brooke's breathing gets back to some semblance of normal, and her heart still feels too-big, but it's sitting where it's supposed to, and exhaustion waves over her.

"I'm sorry," Brooke manages, and Emma's shaking her head, pushing up on her knees and pulling Brooke in for a hug, her head falling to the junction of Emma's shoulder.

"Don't be. At all. It's okay," Emma tells her, and Brooke actually believes her, this time - with the flat of the girl's hand dragging the length of Brooke's spine and her other hand twining fingers through her hair, present and comforting and _warm_. "You've been through a lot. In general, but especially today. It's okay - and I'm really _not_ mad, Brooke," she releases her, dropping back down to sit on her ankles, her hands falling to rest against Brooke's thighs. "When's the last time you had one of those?" 

Just before her father's last photo op, after finding a tiny bag of _white_ in her mother's purse on a search for lipstick. Brooke remembers it clearly, clutching the little bag, caught between the need to _flush it_ and fear, trying to make herself put it back and ending up stuck, sobbing and hyperventilating and _staring_ at her mother's purse until the knock of her father's assistant on the door had snapped her out of it enough to get back under control. 

"A while ago," Brooke shrugs, shakes her head, feels embarrassment start hot in the base of her spine and spread sharp and scalding through her shoulders. Emma's lips press together, the ridiculously _unfair_ cranberry pink her mouth has always naturally had, and her eyebrows knit. "I'm good," Brooke assures her, hears the shake of her own breath as she inhales. Emma _definitely_ doesn't believe her - but she's just tired, now; tired in her bones, exhaustion like a weight on her back. "Can we just sleep?" She asks, and Emma _looks_ at her for a second, like she wants to argue, before her mouth cuts into a soft sort of smile and she nods.

"Of course," she agrees, pressing up from the floor, and Brooke stands, intent on going _back_ to the bathroom to wash her face _again_.

She feels better, when she gets back. She's still tired, and embarrassed, but she's less heavy - it feels like there's less pressure from the inside-out, pushing into the confines of her ribcage. She hadn't even realized it was there until it wasn't anymore, and she's grateful when Emma tugs back the covers to make room for her, crawling in next to her.

"Are you okay if I keep the light on to read for a while?" Emma asks, genuine and half-smiling and holding up her over-worn copy of _Twilight_ , which Brooke knows she'd never admit to reading in public, _ever_ , but is also her comfort-book. She'd reread the series in like, a day and a half when she and Will had broken up the first time.

The lamplight is soft behind Emma, and Brooke feels _warmth_ flood into her torso, from her chest to her stomach. She's always been a little envious of the other girl - she's _gorgeous_ without any makeup on, hair in a ponytail for sleep. Brooke rarely leaves the house without at least one layer; eyeliner and mascara if _nothing else_ \- but Emma's beautiful even stressed out beyond belief, and exhausted, and sad.

"Yeah," Brooke agrees, nodding, and Emma smiles at her, and Brooke drops to burrow, pulling the covers up to her shoulders and fitting herself with her forehead pressed against the girl and the pillow against the top of her head. Emma laughs, and fingers drift against Brooke's ear, tucking her hair back. 

"I forgot you were such a cuddle monster," she gives, and Brooke huffs a breath of indignant laughter, poking Emma in the side. 

"Shutup. I'm small. I don't produce a lot of my own body heat, it's a survival technique,"

"Uh-huh," Emma hums, and Brooke can hear the disbelieving smile in it, grins herself. The poke turns into a trace, and it's easy, normal, for Emma's fingers to be drifting through her hair and Brooke to be aimlessly drawing lines into the soft-blue of Emma's tshirt, against her ribcage.

It's more comforting than anything she's ever had with Seth.

"You know I love you, right?" Brooke offers eventually, softly, pulling her fingers back to rest her knuckles a little lower against Emma's side, on bare skin, where her shirt's rucked up from her hip.

"I love you too, Brooke."

Brooke nods, drifting her knuckles over the freckle on the jut of Emma's hipbone and thinking.

It's not the first time the thought's ever occurred to her - definitely not; she'd thought about it when the video of Audrey came out, and even before that, because, _seriously_ , look at her, Brooke's always known she was definitely not-straight - and she knew she and Emma were friends. And then they'd stopped being friends, suddenly and harshly and Emma had became _their_ friend and - well, Brooke's wondered about it before. She _knows_ Will was Emma's 'first time' - but she's never asked for the clarification of 'with a boy?' and Emma's never offered it. 

But - _but_. Well, she's already embarrassed herself once, tonight, and the anxiety that had been sitting high and strung in her back is gone, now, soothed away by the repetition of Emma's fingers in her hair, against her cheek, over her jaw, drawing idle lines with the occasional, rhythmic turn of her page.

It's just a question. It's a _couple_ questions - but Audrey's their friend, now, and it couldn't hurt to ask. Or, it probably couldn't hurt anymore.

"I want to ask you something, and it's going to be a weird question," Brooke starts, shifting to press her hand into the mattress and press herself up, and Emma smiles at her, brown eyes clouding fond confusion.

"That's ominous,"

"It's not bad, I promise," Brooke says, and Emma arches an eyebrow, but dog-ears her page and sets her book on the end table. "Were you and Audrey ever, like, a _thing_?"

Emma's eyebrows hit her hairline, mouth falling open a little in surprise, and Brooke, well - it's not really the first time she's thought about _this_ , either. She's always thought Emma was gorgeous, and then _after_ Audrey's video had come out - and Brooke had watched it again, and then again, and then again - she'd developed kind of a hyper-fixation on Emma's mouth, because she's always got the best curves to her smiles, even her frowns - and her lips look really _soft_ , and -

"I think, maybe, she had a crush on me for a while, or something like that. But she never did anything about it," Emma gives, a half-sure sort of tone to her voice; almost apprehensive. Brooke wonders if _Emma's_ thought about it before, and looks up from her mouth to meet her eyes, pressing her tongue between her lips as she takes a breath.

Brooke's not sure where this is coming from. Twenty minutes ago, she was sobbing - but Emma had been there, voice low and sweet and counting with her, counting her through it; knowing exactly _how_ , because she'd done it before. Because she'd been there _before_.

She's always been there for Brooke.

"What would have done if she had?" Brooke asks, and her eyes are drawn to the movement of Emma's fingers curling in the covers over her lap, clenching in the flower-print of the duvet. 

She follows the line of the other girl's arm, up to the loose short-sleeve of her shirt, to the vneck of it - Emma's a little bit tanner than Brooke, and she's got a few freckles there, too, flickered over her breastbone and neck.

"I don't know," Emma breathes when Brooke meets her eyes again, and there's a shallowness, like she doesn't have enough air behind it.

Brooke's had less control, lately. Over everything; over everyone, over herself. She's been in _limbo_ \- no action, just _reaction_. But this - she has control over, and she takes a breath as she flicks her eyes back to Emma's lips, still half-parted.

"What would you do if _I_ did?" She asks, voice hoarser than Emma's, just as breathless. 

"Brooke..." Emma starts, corner of her mouth turning in an apprehensive, confused sort of smile, and Brooke looks back up at her, arches an eyebrow. 

"Mm?" She prompts, but Emma just _stares_ at her, so Brooke brings her hand up from where it's been resting against the mattress, against Emma's side, to touch her fingers to Emma's neck. Emma inhales, sharp, and Brooke slides her hand farther, so her fingers are against the back of the girl's neck and the line of her thumb is pressed under Emma's jaw.

She leans in, so their noses touch, close enough for her to smell the bright-clean of Emma's facewash. She hovers there, brushes her thumb against the corner of Emma's jaw and feels it when she exhales, then breathes in again, the shallow-stuttering of Brooke's questions replaced by long and slow.

And Brooke - Brooke's been thinking about this for a _while_ , okay? So she has to do it _right_ , and she keeps her eyes open, watches when Emma's flutter closed. 

Then, Emma's kissing her.

Which isn't - it isn't quite what Brooke was expecting; she thought _she_ was going to kiss _Emma_ \- but Emma's pressing forward; both her hands are on Brooke, fingertips spanned to her spine and lines of her thumbs up along Brooke's ribcage and she's _pulling_ Brooke to her, and she's _kissing_ her, and it's _different_.

Brooke's kissed girls before. Nina was big on making out with other girls to get boys' attention and she and Riley had been locked in a closet with a bottle of peach flavoured schnapps during a freshman game of seven minutes in heaven, once, but this is different from _that_ , too. Nina had always been putting on a show - she hadn't really been _there_ with Brooke, her brain had been on the people watching them, focused more on making it look good than making Brooke feel good. And with Riley, they'd both been drunk and giggling and silly and yeah, sure, Brooke had brushed her hand under Riley's skirt just for the sake of _doing_ _it_ and Riley had jerked and made a noise, just a quiet one, and that had been satisfying and hot and _good_ \- but it still hadn't been like this. 

Because Emma's not drunk. And Emma's not putting on a show, not posturing for the sake of anyone who might see. Emma's kissing Brooke for the sake of _Brooke_ , moving her lips in slow repetition, catching Brooke's between breaths, light but present and _there_ , and Brooke was _right_ \- her mouth is ridiculously, stupidly soft. 

She adjusts, and her tongue presses against Brooke's, and it feels _good_ , and Brooke responds by dragging her teeth against Emma's lower lip. 

Emma _whimpers_.

Honest-to-God fucking _whines_ \- a pitch of a thing in the back of her throat, and the slow of the back-and-forth _shatters_.

Brooke runs her hand up into Emma's hair, pulling, and she whines _again_ , and Brooke moves forward on the bed as Emma's hands drop from her ribs to her hips. 

It's both familiar and completely alien - the positioning is the same, but Emma's hands are smaller than any boys', and where Brooke's tanktop has pulled up she can feel the soft of the girl's palm in contrast to the callousing she's used to. She _likes_ it, and Emma's not pulling the way men have before - not trying to direct her anywhere, just _holding_ , and her thumbs dig _good_ into Brooke's hipbones when she bites her again.

Brooke moves, tugs Emma's hair again, harder, forcing her head back so she can press her lips to the column of the girl's throat as she throws a leg over Emma's hips.

"Oh, _god_ ," Emma mutters when Brooke reaches the junction of her shoulder, so she stops there, presses her lips light and repetitive into the spot and runs her hands the length of Emma's arms, fingertips light against her skin. Brooke feels goosebumps rise under her touch as she lifts her head back up. She stops, when Emma's mouth meets her ear, and the stuttering of the girl's breath becomes loud and all consuming just before her teeth tug at Brooke's earlobe.

Brooke  _stops_.

Emma stops, too, and her grip on Brooke's hips loosens to a hover. "Are you - I'm sorry, are you okay?" She asks, airy and panicky and still _right against Brooke's ear_ , and all Brooke can do is _nod_ because she can't remember how to breathe.

Emma pulls back, and Brooke can't _move_ , is straddling Emma with her hands clutching at the girl's shoulders and the quiet, high-pitched catching of the girl's breathing on Hi-Def fucking replay  _pounding_ through her head. 

Brooke doesn't think she's ever been turned on in this entire life, and she doesn't know how to communicate that she'd frozen because she'd been about to shamelessly, completely, grind against the other girl. Hard.

"Brooke?" Emma prompts, quiet and small, and Brooke takes a slow breath through her nose, managing to quirk her mouth into a smile.

"I'm - fine," she gives, straightens out to meet the girl's eyes, even though she can't force her body to relax yet. "I just - you're just -" she breaks off again, and Emma looks so _worried_ , and Brooke shakes her head. "You sound really _good_ , God, and I didn't want to like, move too fast and freak you out," and her entire body's still locked up, tension sharp through her spine and practically _painful_ in her hips, and Emma's looking at her, confused, and concerned, and then she's looking at _all_ of her, at the way Brooke's holding herself up, away from actually _resting_ against her.

Her hand moves from Brooke's hip; slides lower, thumb drifting into the inner line of Brooke's thigh. Brooke wants to close her eyes, but Emma's looking at her - her eyebrows are knit together, just a little bit, and her teeth are in her lower lip, and she's _curious_ , and Brooke doesn't want to look _away._

Emma's hand turns, her thumb brushing light over Brooke's sleep shorts until it meets with the rest of her hand, and then the base of her palm is pushing _up_ and _hard_ and Brooke's eyes _do close_ , snapping shut as she responds, grinds back down against Emma's palm. 

"Oh," she hears, light and almost - _polite_ , somehow, and Brooke wants to laugh, but Emma's hand turns again, so she's pressing up with the flat of her fingers instead, and she's leaning forward, her free hand coming up to brush Brooke's hair back again and she's _never_ going to be able to do that platonically _ever fucking again_. "Does that feel good?" She asks, lips brushing Brooke's ear, and her voice is _low_ and _liquid_ and _so fucking good_ \- and Brooke hadn't expected anything like that from Emma Duval; she'd expected blushing and shy and _innocence_ \- but what she's getting is three of the girl's fingertips grinding circles into her clit and _fucking dirty talk_.

" _Yes_ ," she manages, and it's her turn to whimper, the syllable a high-pitch with barely any air under it because Brooke can barely get any air _in_ , and Emma's other hand drops back to her hip and pushes her _down_. Pulls her forward, in, then back, like she's trying to get Brooke to _ride her hand_. _"Fuck_ ,"

Emma's kissing her again; and it's just like before - slow and repetitive, the brush of Emma's mouth against Brooke's top lip, then the bottom; the press of her tongue _electric_ every time, and Brooke can still barely keep up. She's following - Emma's pressing up against her, pulling her down, at the same pace of her mouth, and it's completely overwhelming in absolutely the _best_ way possible.

But it's not enough.

She whines. She doesn't really know how to express herself, just _whines_ \- grinds a little more erratically against Emma's hand, out of sync, and Emma's mouth is smiling on hers. 

"You okay?" She asks, and it's genuine, mostly, but there's also kind of a taunt, and fuck it, Brooke _likes_ the smugness. Even if it's not at all what she was expecting - it's _hot_. She likes the confidence. She _wants_ Emma to be confident, even if at the moment Brooke can't get her own brain to fire enough neurons to achieve any sort of mental capacity besides  _fuck me_. 

"More," Brooke says, eyes still screwed shut. She's still moving her hips, even though Emma's not holding any sort of rhythm anymore - still pressed against her, but without the up and down of the _pressure_ , and it feels desperate in a good way. Brooke knows Emma's looking at her, watching, and she _likes_ it - always has; likes attention, likes feeling hot, _desirable_. Suddenly, she really, _really_ wants Emma to watch her come - but she's not going to get there from _just_ this, and drags her fingertips up and down the back of Emma's neck, her other hand holding tight to the girl's shoulder. "I need -" she breaks off, shakes her head and presses her tongue between her lips. It's a request she's made before, without embarrassment, but this is _different_ ; Emma is different. Emma isn't some  _guy_ just waiting for the go ahead to get to use their dick - she's, listening, she's watching; she's Emma, she's probably  _taking_ notes.

"What do you need?" She prompts, and Brooke's brow knits, screwing her eyes shut tighter as the request ricochets, unvoiced, around the back of her brain.

"I want you - inside me," she manages, finally, and opens her eyes, and _there's_ the blush she was looking for earlier.

The burst of pink is bright on the Emma's cheeks, and Brooke can see that there's colour rising across her chest, too.

Brooke's hips are still moving. It's not really an active thing - she's just, _rocking_ , because it _feels good_ , and Emma's legs are up, so her thighs are against Brooke's back and she _feels it_ when the other tenses up, when she presses her legs together, when her body jerks into Brooke.

"Are you turned on?" Brooke asks - which, yeah, duh, she _knows_ the answer, but she wants to hear Emma say it.

Brooke can play dirty, too.

"Is that a real question?" Emma shoots back, and her hand is completely locked against Brooke - she hasn't done anything to make good on Brooke's request, but she's not really _that_ perturbed about it. She'll get what she wants - but she wants to play with this, for a minute.

"Emma," Brooke starts, hands against the girl's shoulders as she pushes her back against the headboard, then leans in. "Do. I. Turn. You. On?" She asks, quiet, pointed, moving one hand to hold Emma's wrist and move her hand _lower_ , until the tips of her fingers are pressed against Brooke's cunt through her shorts.

Just her shorts.

Sleeping without underwear is _always_ the right call, and Emma's eyes blow a little wider as Brooke leads her fingers in a small circle - because it feels fucking _good_ , damnit, and Brooke _wants_ it, can't stop thinking about the _pressure_ and the _burn_ and the  _good_  she associates with someone fucking into her, but obsessed around the image of Emma's fingers. 

"You're really wet," Emma says instead of anything else, and Brooke almost laughs at her, at the surprise of the words, except it's also _hot_ , and she drops forwards a little bit as Emma takes over, presses her fingers up harder against Brooke. She drops her head, temple resting against Emma's cheek. "Yes, Brooke. You turn me on," she adds, voice back to the edge of _control_ she'd had before, and a hand comes up to Brooke's throat, thumb pressing against her chin to tilt her head up. "Keep your eyes open."

The pressure disappears for a moment, and then knuckles are brushing against the inside of her thigh and Brooke adjusts, lifts herself up enough for Emma to get her hand between them, into the loose leg of Brooke's shorts. She keeps her eyes on Emma's, breathing _hard_ as she watches the caramel-brown watching _her_ , and then it's direct - Emma's fingers are _on_  her, _against_  her, and then - 

It's sharp, high-pitched - it's practically a fucking _sob_ when Emma presses into her, almost sudden, and Brooke's whole body seizes up for a second and then she's pushing down against Emma again, and - and they're _still looking at each other_.

" _Jesus_ , Brooke," Emma gives, eyes never leaving Brooke's, not until she presses up to kiss her again, fingers curling inside her like she's _done this before_. And Brooke's keening, again - the whine of the sound buried against Emma's mouth. Emma's hand jerks, up, palm against Brooke's clit again, and Brooke's hips stutter and she absolutely fucking _moans_.

Emma's free hand comes up to curve around Brooke's neck, fingers curled in her hair as she pulls back just enough to rest their foreheads together, and Brooke whimpers again when she feels Emma move her fingers, out, _out_ , and then back in. "Brooke," she says, quiet and short, and does it again, and Brooke is _whining_ , and then Emma's stopping, and that just makes her want to whine _more_. "You have to be quiet. Can you be quiet for me?" She asks, and Brooke keeps her eyes closed because she's pretty sure she'll _die_ if she looks at Emma right now, the warmth of _for me?_ bleeding through her like a knife, overwhelmed by the absurd gentleness of her voice, the coaxing of the request. 

Brooke nods, and Emma's lips press against her cheek when she stutters her hand again, _up_ and _in_ and _against_ , and Brooke digs her teeth into her bottom lip and she still whimpers, but it's muffled, and she feels Emma's lips catch a smile.

"Good." 

Emma's hand moves from the back of her neck to Brooke's hip again, then up, Brooke's shirt catching around her wrist as she goes higher, and higher, and brushes her thumb over Brooke's nipple and Brooke's _never wearing underwear to bed again_.

Her other hand picks up pace - the back and forth pressure against her clit, then inside her, overwhelming and all-consuming except for the part of her brain that's feeling Emma's lips press against the junction of her shoulder, light, repetitive, then up, to Brooke's jaw, to her ear. And her breathing is all _rushed_ again; and then _Emma_ whines - like, like it's just a reaction to Brooke, just to _fucking_ Brooke, because Brooke can't reciprocate a damned thing like this, and the hand under her shirt is oddly clumsy in comparison to the hand between Brooke's legs, the brush of her fingers against Brooke's skin seemingly without aim until she's catching her nipple and _pinching_ and there's _nails_ and all Brooke wants to do is tell Emma how good she is, how good she feels, how fucking _hot_ this is, but she's still got her teeth dug into her lip and _for me?_ bouncing around in the back of her brain and all she can do is whimper, and _she_ thinks she sounds almost pathetic, but Emma's grip against her ribcage tightens.

"You're _so fucking hot_ ," Emma breathes, hoarse, and Brooke doesn't think she's _ever_ heard Emma swear before and if she had any self awareness she'd be afraid her nails were going to break the skin at the back of Emma's neck, leave half-moon crescents as proof to how completely fucking _destroyed_ Emma has her. She feels Emma lean back, away from her, thumb running little circles into her ribcage and fingers fucking _pumping_ and palm pressing against her over and over and _over_ again and Brooke manages to get her eyes open, because she wants to _see_ , and Emma's looking at her with absolute, rapt attention - eyes drifting from between Brooke's legs, the thrusting of her own hand, and then up, over Brooke's torso, bare, to her other hand, and Brooke watches _Emma_ watch as she pulls her shirt up a little higher, over her breast - total exposure, and she her tongue presses between her lips and Brooke's not even moving her hips in any sort of real rhythm, anymore, it's just _jerking_ and _desperate_ , because she just needs a little _more -_ "God, Brooke," Emma says, eyes on hers, and that's _it_.

Brooke barely manages to get her hand clamped over her mouth before she's practically fucking _crying_ , sounds sharp and high in her chest and the back of her throat. She falls forwards, forehead against Emma's shoulder, as she fucks down against her hand - a _complete_ loss of control, again, her other hand clutching at Emma's neck and -

"Fuck, fuck _fuck_ ," she's being quiet, she _is_ \- syllables stuttering out in whispers against the hollow of Emma's throat while her body jerks, hard, because Emma doesn't _stop_ , keeps thrusting her fingers, palm pressed _hard_ and _constant_ against Brooke's clit and Brooke absolutely wants to _sob_ , forced into a second orgasm before she's barely managed the first.

She drops her hand, grabbing at Emma's wrist and _tugging_ to stop her from going for lucky number _three_ because Brooke's body just, just fucking _can't_ \- and Emma stops moving, but she doesn't pull away, keeps her hand locked and tense and still against Brooke, who's still shuddering. Her other hand is running up and down Brooke's spine again - just like before, like she has to be _comforted_ ; which, really, maybe she does, and Emma's lips are light when she tilts her head to kiss Brooke's cheek, barely more than a brush, still and quiet while she waits for Brooke's body to calm down. 

Except it _can't_ , not entirely, because Emma's still _inside_ her, and still pressed _against_ her, and every time Brooke tries to relax her body just _jerks_. 

"You okay?" Emma asks, and it's definitely taunting, just a _little_ bit, but it's also genuine, and Brooke takes a breath, nods, even though she's not entirely sure she _is_ okay. "Can you -" she breaks off, and Brooke lifts her head up, because it Emma's voice was  _quiet_ again, unsure, questioning, and Emma's lips are pressed hard together when Brooke meets her eyes, whole body still built in tension because Emma _still hasn't moved her hand_. "Can you come again?" She asks, and it's so _genuine_ and almost _shy_ and Brooke thinks she might pass out. 

"Greedy," Brooke accuses, because she's blushing, and Emma grins at her, eyes lighting up in a way that shouldn't be cute with their current position - but is totally, _totally_ adorable.

"Is that a yes?" She asks, and Brooke's initial thought is _no_ \- but the stillness of Emma against her isn't overwhelming, now, just good, and she tries to let herself relax a little bit more, pressing against Emma's hand and then grinding, just barely, and she nods. "Okay," Emma's fucking _beaming_ at her, and Brooke almost rolls her eyes just to deflect her embarrassment, but it's so incredibly endearing, so instead she just adjusts to rest both her hands against Emma's shoulders, for leverage.

She closes her eyes, this time, and then rocks against Emma's fingers - and this is slower. Emma matches her pace, rhythmic and repetitive in the flex of her hand, catching the rock of Brooke's hips. She leans forwards when Brooke's breathing picks up, and Brooke moves her hands from Emma's shoulders into her hair, the ponytail that's barely in place anymore, fingernails dragging against her scalp while Emma presses her lips over Brooke's collarbone, her throat.

It's small, when she comes; her breath hitches and her hips jerk into Emma and her fingers are tangled in the girl's hair - and she whimpers, just a little bit; quiet but _there_ , and Emma's hand is flat along her back, holding her up. 

Brooke winces a little bit when Emma pulls away, the sudden loss half-painful for a heartbeat until she relaxes and Emma sits back and Brooke's just trying to catch her breath, completely minding her own _damn business_ , when Emma brings her fingers up to her mouth. 

It's - it should be vulgar, but it's _Emma_ , who needs to know and understand everything about everything and Brooke hates it when guys say shit about how good her pussy tastes, or whatever other kind of adjectives they manage to come up with, because there's dirty talk and then there's talk that makes her feel _dirty_ , but she watches Emma press the tips of her fingers into her mouth, can see the pink of her tongue run against them, and _can't breathe_.

"Jesus," she exhales, and Emma looks back up at her, almost _guilty_ , like she's been caught doing something she shouldn't be, and Brooke just tilts her head. "Well?" 

"You taste good," Emma remarks, definitive, like it's a fact, and _god_. "Did you know that?"

Brooke arches an eyebrow at her. "I - guess not," she hesitates, and Emma manages to look _shy_ in her next movement, bringing her hand up to touch her fingertips against Brooke's bottom lip, and Brooke - well, Brooke parts her lips, lets Emma dip her fingers into her mouth, never looking away, and it - it's _hot_ , it's _so hot_. Brooke closes her lips around Emma's fingers, drags her tongue along them, and Emma _whimpers_ again.

"See?" She offers as she pulls her hand away, and Brooke doesn't even care, _at all_ , that it's still wet when it falls back to its place at Brooke's hip. She just leans in to Emma and _kisses_ her, _hard_.

She kisses her like she _means it_ \- because she does, because Brooke _wants_ Emma, she wants more noises, wants to know if Emma blushes higher when she's being fucked, if she'll still talk dirty when Brooke's tongue is on her clit, and - and Brooke gets predatory, absolutely. She takes men apart; she sex-wrecks them, she's _good_ at it. It's a game, and making them groan and pant her name when they come feels like _winning_. But she doesn't want to win, here - she wants to make Emma say her name, but she wants it in a softer way, a protective way; she wants to make Emma feel _good_. 

_You know I love you, right?_

She wants to kiss her, and touch her, and drag her nails over her skin and dig her teeth against her hips so she jerks, just a little bit, and wants to kiss the inside of her legs and run fingertips over her nipples, over the line of her collarbone, wants to work her up until she's _shaking_ and then she wants to make her come, hard, because she wants Emma to feel good. 

"How do you taste?" Brooke asks against Emma's mouth, and she feels as much as hears the breath the other girl takes, short and sharp.

She remembers, suddenly, the video. She remembers the quiet sounds Emma had made, buried into Will's neck - she remembers the way Emma's hand had tightened around his bicep and how she'd arched, from the base of her spine. And Brooke feels _guilty_  - she shouldn't have watched it, but she hadn't been able to _stop_ , had been caught up in everything _Emma_ \- and she desperately wants to reverse, go back and make herself turn it off but she _can't_ \- and Emma deserves better.

She deserves to know, at least, that Brooke's seen it. Even if there's a good chance that telling her is going to get Brooke kicked out of her bed, maybe her house, maybe her life.

"I watched the video," she says in a tumble, pulling back and breaking the moment. For a heartbeat, Emma's eyes are wide and confused, and then it clicks, and Brooke's falling over herself to explain. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry - I absolutely shouldn't have, total invasion of privacy, totally _not okay_ , I just - you're so _hot_ , and _it_ was so hot - but I wish that I hadn't, I wish I'd just like, gone for the _real thing_ , and -"

"Brooke," Emma's hands fall to Brooke's arms, thumbs pressing into the joints of her shoulders, cutting her off. "Stop, I'm not mad," and Brooke looks at her again, instead of over her shoulder at the not-that-interesting embroidery on Emma's headboard she'd been talking at. "This -" Emma breaks off, tilts her head, runs her hands down Brooke's arms to catch her wrists. "This has been a _thing_ for a while, hasn't it?" She asks, and Brooke, uselessly, shrugs. " _Brooke_ ,"

"Since Audrey's video, I guess," she supplies, and Emma looks surprised, squeezes Brooke's wrists and then runs her hands down farther, to fit their fingers together. She looks down, at their hands, like she's considering, and Brooke's trying not to hold her breath but she feels like if she makes too much noise then the weird lack-of-anger is going to turn into the much more appropriate  _definite_ -anger. 

"Did you - get off to it? Mine?" Emma asks, tone airy, like the question isn't actually directed at anyone in particular, and Brooke squeezes her hands.

"Yeah," she gives, winces. "Yes - I'm sorry, that's so _pervy_ ," she goes on, and then Emma's looking back up at her, sudden and shaking her head.

"No, hey - I mean, okay, yeah, it's kind of gross to think about random guys at school jerking off to it, but - Brooke, I don't think it's pervy. You're - you're my _friend_ , and I know you weren't like, leering at me, or objectifying me, or anything, you were just..." she trails off, and now Brooke is _definitely_ holding her breath. "You were curious," Emma gives, and then she's grinning at her, so Brooke's grinning _back_. "And that's... kind of really hot, actually," she goes on, so Brooke's grinning _more_ , and Emma moves their hands up, to press Brooke's to her torso, and the heat of her body through her shirt against Brooke's palms is _good_ , but Brooke starts tugging at her shirt, pulling it up, because she wants _skin_.

"Yeah?" She prompts, leaning in a little more, relieved that Emma's not angry at her - surprised, floored, _shocked_ that she's not, but unwilling to _not_ take her good fortune and fucking _run_ with it.

"Yeah," Emma confirms, lifts her arms to let Brooke pull her shirt up, and she's not wearing a bra, and Brooke's already pushed like, every fucking boundary, so she just stops and _looks_ at her.

She's seen Emma naked before, in glimpses, while getting changed in the same room, but this is _different,_ and Brooke's lowkey (highkey) obsession centres in on the fact that Emma's nipples are the exact same pink of her mouth, and, well - there's not much for her to do about that besides use _her_ mouth.

So she does, leans in to run her tongue against Emma and then bite down - light, but present, her hand mimicking with her nails on the other side, and Emma _arches_ , pressing up into Brooke's mouth with her hand at the back of her head, fingers tangled in her hair, _keeping_ her there. 

So Brooke bites her a little harder. And she jerks, and whimpers, just a little bit, and then her fingers are drifting to catch Brooke's chin and tilt her head up.

Emma's pupils are fucking _blown_ , and her gaze is completely unfocused, and Brooke doesn't think she's ever had such a confusing mix of affection caught up in desperately wanting to _ruin_ someone. 

"What were you thinking about? When you watched it. Me. When -" she breaks off a little bit, air shuddering through her throat, "When you were touching yourself."

And _good fucking god_. Emma Duval, asking Brooke for her fantasies. Who the _hell_ would she be not to comply?

"You, grabbing me. Your hands in my hair - your arms around my back. Your legs around my hips," Brooke ducks in, tilting her head to press light, definitive kisses the length of Emma's throat. "Your legs over my shoulders," she presses back up, pressing her lips to the corner of Emma's jaw and then hovering at her ear, _payback_. "You saying my name,"

" _Brooke_ ," Emma breathes, and Brooke grins.

"Take off your pants." 

She knows it's not entirely fair - Emma's naked and Brooke's still, technically, fully dressed, but Emma fucked her through _three orgasms_ and her shorts are like, ruined - so it's even, somehow. Even enough, anyway, because Brooke's got a _goal_ , and it doesn't involve stopping long enough to take off her own clothes, preoccupied as she is with pressing her lips everywhere she can reach over Emma's chest while she gets the last of her layers off.

"Thank you," Brooke offers once they're gone, which should _mean something_ , because Brooke _never_ says thank you, and then she's pulling away and back to give Emma enough space for her next request, "Lay down."

And, Brooke is probably skipping a step. She hasn't even actually _touched_ Emma yet, not with her fingers, which are _definitely_ more tactile, a better way to figure out what she's doing - but, Brooke's never been one to back down from a challenge. And _this_ is what she's been obsessing about the most.

So, fuck it.

She curls her fingers at the side of Emma's neck, knuckles dragging over the junction of her shoulder while Brooke presses her lips along the line of the girl's jaw, digs her teeth against the corner of it. She presses down, holds Emma flat against the mattress to get her point across - that _Brooke_ is in control, now, and then spreads her fingers out and back up to curl them around the back of the girl's neck, tangle them in her hair as she leans in to kiss her again.

And it's _dirty_.

She uses her tongue - definitely, _definitely_ less purposefully than Emma had, less rhythmic, pressing hers against Emma's and then digging her teeth into the girl's lip, hard, sucking, so either of Emma's hands come up to cup Brooke's face and she's whimpering, whining into Brooke's mouth.

Her hands move when Brooke pulls away, falling to her shoulders as Brooke starts to press down her body - purposeful, but not lingering. She's on a mission, after all, and it'd be one thing if she thought Emma needed more foreplay, if she hadn't felt the girl pressing up against Brooke while she was fucking her. 

But she had.

So she presses down, dragging her lips over Emma's torso and her nails right after, tip of her nose tracing around her belly button and into the jut of her hipbones. She fits herself between Emma's legs, one hand pressing against the inside of her thigh so they fall open, and she looks _up_ to find Emma looking at her - pressed up on her elbows, _watching_.

So Brooke gives her her best Brooke _grin_ \- wide and genuine and faux-innocent, and Emma _laughs_ , drops back down giggling. 

Brooke flats her tongue against her, dragging up, against Emma's clit, and the laughing turns into a gasp. She readjusts, just a little bit - fitting her arm under Emma's leg so she can span her hand against the girl's hip, and then pulls back a little bit to look at what she's doing, moving her hand in on Emma's thigh to press her thumb over her clit.

Emma tenses up, and Brooke does it again, catching against the top this time to pull _up_ , just a little bit, forcing exposure so she can get tongue in the right spot when she presses in again. Emma jerks, and her fingers curl around the wrist of Brooke's hand at her hip, nails digging into the base of Brooke's palm.

Brooke keeps her thumb where it is and tilts her head down, tip of her nose brushing against Emma's clit as she ducks her head in to press her tongue against her, inside her. She can't get - _far_ , but she can get enough, rocking forwards with the movement and earning more tension in Emma's thighs.

She stays there, for a little bit - does it again, and again, and _again_ \- purposefully _too light,_ trying to see if she can get Emma to ask for more, over and over until the girl is full body  _shaking_  every time Brooke's tongue runs against her. She's got a vice grip on Brooke's wrist - there's definitely going to be marks, and Brooke _wants_ them, wants the tiny, whimpering noises Emma keeps making, and practically _moans_ when the girl's other hand fits itself into Brooke's hair, tangling and tugging.

" _Harder_ ," she asks - not an order, but desperate, almost begging. "More, please, _please_."

Well, Brooke's not going to say _no_ to her.

She shifts, lifts her head to flick her tongue against Emma's clit, more direct than anything her hand's been doing. She moves her fingers down in exchange, following up the sharp pressure with the flat of her tongue, hard as she presses her thumb into the girl, just a little bit. Emma's whole body tenses up, and Brooke digs her nails into Emma's thigh, where the rest of her hand is spanned, flicking her tongue again.

She jerks her thumb, up, pulls out and presses in again - it's not _deep_ , obviously, but Emma's body is clutching at the friction, and Brooke speeds up with her tongue, up and down and over and over and _over_ again. 

Brooke doesn't remember the last time she was this incredibly _focused_ on anything - absolutely _everything_ is Emma; the way she tastes, the soft give of her skin under Brooke's nails, the barely-suppressed twitching of her hip in Brooke's hand, the death-grip on Brooke's wrist, her fingers in Brooke's hair, the tiny, sharp noises she's making - and Brooke looks up, watching the way the other's body arches, curving at her ribcage. 

She's so caught up in it that she almost doesn't notice when it _changes_ \- when the jerking in Emma's hips stutters into longer beats of tension, then release, when her grip in Brooke's hair changes from holding on to _pulling_ Brooke against her, and her clit is different against Brooke's mouth, more definitive, she's - she's fucking _hard_.

It's probably the _sexiest_ _fucking thing_ Brooke's ever experienced. 

Or, so she thinks, until the whimpering turns into syllables, and it takes Brooke a second to hear it properly, a mantra, whispered and whined and broken.

" _Yes_ , yes, ye - _fuck_ , yes, _Brooke_ ," 

Everything tenses up; everything except the most minute movement of Emma's hips, she's silent, she's basically holding her breath, Brooke thinks, determinedly _not stopping_ , continuing in the flick of her tongue over Emma, and then she's _wet_. Wetter. It's not a _lot_ \- but it's enough for Brooke to notice, over her hand, against her mouth, her chin, and it's _hot_ , and then Emma's hips are breaking into movement again and she's making more noises and Brooke wants _more_ , keeps going, but Emma's hand moves from her hair to pull at her jaw, fingertips slicking against her skin because _Jesus_ , Emma just _came_ on her.

"Stop, stop, I can't - _Brooke_ ," Emma breaks into an almost laugh, even though she's scolding, and Brooke honest-to-god _grumbles_ , lets Emma tilt her head away and moves her hand to span it against the inside of Emma's knee.

" _Fine_ ," she mutters, and Emma laughs again, all breathless and from her chest. "Completely unfair, though," Brooke dictates, and then Emma's pushing up on her elbows to look down at Brooke, and she's _panting_ , and Brooke meets her eyes and raises an eyebrow at her as she brings her hand up from Emma's leg to wipe the back of it across her mouth.

Emma turns _red_.

"I'm sorry - I don't always... I can't control it, I should have warned you," she manages, the words all rushed and rolling into each other because she can't get the breath support for them. Brooke just shakes her head.

"Don't apologize," she says, presses her lips to Emma's thigh and then her hip and then moves back up her body, hands pressed to the mattress on either side of the girl. "That was - _way better_ than anything my imagination could have come up with. _Don't apologize_ ," she insists, and Emma's blushing harder, and closing her eyes, and pressing her hands over her face, which is _ridiculous_ , so Brooke pulls at her wrists and _kisses_ her. "Stop that," she mutters against Emma's mouth, tucking her hand to the curve of the girl's jaw. It's soft, and light, and Brooke presses chaste kisses over-and-over-and-over until Emma's laughing again, _giggling_ under her.

"Okay, _okay_ ," she gives finally, hands coming up to the back of Brooke's head to hold her in place as Emma kisses her, properly, slow, and then releases her and drops back to the bed. 

"So..." Brooke starts, dancing her fingers over Emma's abdomen. "Again?" She asks, tilts her head, and Emma just laughs more, exasperation poignant in the fond roll of her eyes. " _Hey_. You did me _three times_. You played a _hat trick_ with my clit," Brooke tells her, so Emma's laughing _harder_ , and Brooke takes the opportunity for Emma not to respond to press her lips against the girl's collarbone, then up, to the spot that had had her breathless before, digging her teeth into the other's skin. Her laughter turns again, to a sigh of a sound, and her fingers tangle in Brooke's hair at the back of her head. "I want to finger you," Brooke offers, turning her head so her mouth is against Emma's ear, and Emma's exhale is a hop-start of a thing, shorting out like the burst of a lightbulb.

She doesn't say anything; she nods, one hand staying in Brooke's hair while the other finds Brooke's hand against her stomach and presses it _down_.

She's still wet, obviously, and with Emma's fingertips against the back of her hand Brooke presses two fingers into her with next to no resistance, earning a gasp, and adding a third on the next press, so Emma's grip moves to grab at Brooke's shoulder, tight.

Brooke readjusts so her weight is on her knees and she can get her other hand between them, pressing two fingers against Emma's clit. She whines in Brooke's ear, and Brooke _knows_ she should say something about being quiet, but Emma's turning her head before she can, kissing her so the sounds are trapped against Brooke's mouth.

Brooke keeps her fingers a constant against Emma's clit; hard pressure, and thrusts slow inside her - fingertips pressed up inside her, against her, every time she pulls out, Emma's body mimicking the movements in arches that come from between her shoulder blades and down, turning her hips out against Brooke's hands.

Emma stops kissing her, turns her head to hide against Brooke's shoulder, and Brooke has a moment where the image of Emma doing the _exact same thing_ with Will is _all_ she can think about, and it's an odd rush of triumph and such a turn-on Brooke's pretty sure she'd orgasm, spontaneously, if Emma just asked her nicely to.

" _Fuck_ ," Brooke mutters, where her head's fallen to Emma's collarbone, _watching_ the movement of her hands - and she can't see exactly what she's doing, but she can see Emma's hips moving to meet her, and closes her eyes for the sake of _focus_. 

So, she doesn't see it coming when Emma's hand meets her abdomen, when she pulls at the elastic of Brooke's shorts and is moving to catch Brooke's clit between two fingers, the third dragging over it - and Brooke's caught off guard, isn't ready for the sudden way her body responds, a jerk, and thrusts her fingers _deeper_ , hard, without warning.

Emma is _loud_.

It's just for a half-second, until she catches herself - but she fucking _cries out_ , and Brooke's convinced she's hurt her, starts to pull away, but Emma catches her wrist and _holds_ her there with her free hand, her other hand still running maddening little circles against Brooke's clit and it's _overwhelming_ and Brooke has no idea what's going on. 

"Are you okay?" She manages, _absolutely_ panicked, and Emma doesn't even open her eyes, which is not reassuring - just, just nods, teeth dug into her lip like if she lets go she'll scream, or something. "Emma, seriously, are you okay?" But she _has_ to be, because she's still moving her fingers against Brooke, and like - seriously, Brooke's _trying_ to concentrate, and that's making it _really hard_ , and Emma's just _nodding_ again.

"Do that again," she says, finally, and the words are strained like she can barely manage them, "Deeper," she adds, and _oh_.

Brooke lets her forehead drop back to Emma's collarbone, adjusts _again_ , to spread her legs a little bit more, give the other better access - because, like, she's focused, she's doing something, she's _concentrating_ , but what Emma's doing feels really, _really_ good and she doesn't want it to _stop_ \- and brings her hand away from Emma's clit to press against Emma's thigh, push her leg back - runs her hand down to Emma's knee to direct her, so her leg goes around Brooke's waist. 

And then Brooke _thrusts_ , and Emma cries out against her, her fingers slipping against Brooke's clit. 

She picks up the pace, just a little bit - stops pulling out as far, but curling her fingers when she does, pressing the tips of them up and dragging - and every time she does Emma's _entire body_ seizes up completely. Which is distracting, actually, because that includes the fingers against Brooke, which press up _hard_ and Brooke's never had to focus on _not getting off_ before.

Emma arches when she comes, knees digging into Brooke's ribcage and ankles locked against the small of her back and forcing her even fucking _deeper_ , her hand digging hard into Brooke's shoulder, and Brooke can't _not_ anymore, her weight balanced between her knees and against Emma's collarbone, she grabs at the girl's hand with her free one and presses her into place, holds her there and _rocks_ into it. 

She's loud. She's - she's definitely loud, and then they're both just _there_ , trying to breathe.

"Oh my god," Brooke manages finally, feels a sympathy pang at the quiet noise Emma makes when Brooke pulls out of her and readjusts her weight again, elbows against the mattress on Emma's either side.

"Yeah," is the agreement, and when Brooke looks up Emma's eyes are still closed and she's getting aftershocks, lips pressing together every time she jerks.

Brooke busies herself with pressing her lips against every place she can reach - Emma's bicep, her shoulder, her collarbone, her neck, her jaw - and finally the girl turns her head to kiss her, slow and _absolutely fucking filthy_.

Like - tongue, all tongue, and she's still jerking a little bit and she _whines_ when she does, almost like it hurts but not _quite_ , and her hand is light around Brooke's throat, holding her with her thumb pressed along one side of her jaw and her fingertips along the other.

Brooke's still feeling it too - not as much, she doesn't think, but it's kind of like an ache, the bleed of _hot_ along her abdomen. She feels fuzzy at the edges, and warm, and she grins against Emma's mouth before she pulls back.

"Hey," she gives, and Emma's pupils are still huge, lips wet and pinker than before, cheeks red, hair a total _disaster_ against the pillow. Brooke's pleased with herself - it's a satisfyingly _ruined_ look, and the sleepy way Emma smiles at her makes her feel even warmer. 

"Hey," Emma gives back, voice cracking on the syllable, and Brooke just _beams_ when Emma laughs at herself.

"So - d'you think I woke up your mom?" She asks, not that it's her goddamn _fault_ if she did, and Emma laughs again.

"No. She's a really heavy sleeper," she says, and Brooke pulls back, mouth falling open in faux-offense. 

"What was that _be quiet_ stuff about?" She asks, and Emma gets that guilty smile again, shrugging one shoulder and looking away from Brooke's eyes to follow her own fingers where they brush along Brooke's temple.

"I wanted to see if you could be quiet for me," she bites her lip, watches the trail of her fingers over the shell of Brooke's jaw. "It was... hot," she gives, like it's an explanation - which, _whatever_ , Brooke supposes that it _is_. But _still_. 

"Emma Duval, secret dom," she teases, and Emma's eyes flick to hers, a little wide until she realizes Brooke's joking, and then she's smirking, and pressing up to kiss her again.

"Maybe next time we'll see how _loud_ you can be for me," She offers once she breaks the kiss, her hand at the back of Brooke's neck, their foreheads together, and Brooke inhales.

"Next time?"

Emma's sleep shuffle is still playing, some instrumental version of a top forties song Brooke can't quite put her finger on, and Emma smiles, kisses her again.

"You're really pretty when you come," she says, quiet, casual, like it's  _nothing_ , like the breath Brooke's trying to take doesn't short out in the hollow of her throat. "You're really pretty - always, but..." Emma trails off, runs her hand down Brooke's arm, fingers drifting idle over her skin. "You're going to be staying here for a while,  _anyway_ , so - next time," she summarizes, and Brooke exhales a shaky sort of laugh, humming and giving a nod.

"Next time," she repeats, agreeing, and Emma smiles again, so Brooke has no option other than to kiss it from her mouth.

**Author's Note:**

> http://greenlig-t.tumblr.com/ welcome to hell
> 
> as always; feedback welcome + appreciated. Xx


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